


Cabin Fever (But Not Really)

by toadboat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, accidental use of beholding powers, but its okay, can you tell im a kinnie from this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27175166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toadboat/pseuds/toadboat
Summary: We go back to the small cabin in the middle of Scotland, where Jon and Martin hide out after their disappearance. However, Jon can't keep his mind off a few words said to him not long ago...
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 103





	Cabin Fever (But Not Really)

**Author's Note:**

> I've never posted a fic before, or any writing for that matter, so uh, enjoy whatever this is! Also my first time using the site so my apologies if there are missing or wrong tags. Thanks for reading <3

Martin emerges from the kitchen with two steaming cups, and smiles carefully when he sees Jon, who is sitting on the ragged couch. Martin takes his seat next to him and places one of the cups on the table in front of Jon, holding on to the other one, letting the warmth of the tea seep into his cold hands. The small cabin they are staying in is a saving grace from the chaos the two men had escaped from only yesterday, but as for escaping the fall chill, the tiny fireplace leaves something to be desired. But at least there is a kettle. Martin was able to find a small tea shop in town that carried his favorites, and has practically not stopped making tea since he arrived back at the cabin from his errands. It's comforting, and maybe it helps things feel a bit more normal. Perhaps they can leave the turmoil of the last couple years behind them. All in all, it is nice here.  
  
Martin gently blows on his tea as he settles, tucking his feet under himself. He wouldn't say that Jon not thanking him for the tea or not even looking up bothered him, but it was certainly unusual. Was it unusual enough to justify the onset of anxious thoughts making their home in the crannies of Martin's mind? Perhaps not, but in case of doubt, it always seems like the best option to just ask.  
  
"Are you all right, Jon?"  
  
Upon hearing Martin's voice, Jon looks up at him, holding the hand he was resting his head in up in midair. It takes him a moment to process the words before trying to shake his head of the deep thought he was in a moment ago.  
  
"Yes, I'm quite alright, I was just, ah... I'm just thinking about something."  
  
Back in that moment, Jon hadn't been able to respond, or even fully process the whole meaning of the words that were spoken to him then. It was only in retrospect that he realized what had happened. As if he had been on autopilot before. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense, and the more it didn't make sense, and the more the words swirled around in his head along with every single thing that-  
  
"Jon?" Martin's quiet voice, raised slightly louder than normal, pulls Jon back into reality. Realizing he dropped his head back into his palm, he again looks up to meet Martin's eyes.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said; what is it?" Martin gives him a warm smile. "If you want to talk about it, I mean."  
  
Jon's face had involuntarily contorted itself into a pensive frown which he, as soon as he realizes this, tries to relax, which proves to be rough when one is still grappling with thoughts that don't seem to want to make sense. While Jon is definitely not the most emotionally communicative person, he knows that he will have to talk about this some day if he wants things to not feel this painfully uncertain. For someone bound to The Eye, there's still plenty things he doesn't understand, and the last thing he wants to do is pull an explanation from his friend's mind.  
He reaches to pick up his cup of tea, as if picking up his courage, and holds it as if it were a barrier between him and the growing tightness in his chest. He starts tentatively.  
  
"Back in The Lonely, you said something."  
  
Martin uneasily shifts his position on the couch upon being reminded of the Entity that tried to claim him so desperately.  
  
"Did I?" His voice is more quiet now, delicate. "I have to admit, it's a bit foggy. Ah, pun not intended."   
  
He grimaces at his unfortunate joke and Jon can't help but crack a slight smile before he decides to move on before he loses his nerve. He darts his eyes around the room uncomfortably to look at anything but Martin.  
  
"You said, ah, that you loved me."  
  
"Oh," Martin laughs sheeplishly and turns his gaze away too as he feels his face heat up. "I suppose I did say that, didn't I?"   
  
He takes a long sip from his mug, letting the silence drag on long after. His knuckles turn white as his grip on his mug tightens.  
Jon takes a small sip of his own tea. It's delicious, as always. Martin knows exactly how he likes his tea. He stares at the swirling liquid words in his cup for a few moments before continuing.  
  
"Did you..." He pauses and corrects himself. "I was just wondering... if you meant anything by it."  
  
He stares intently at the eight undissolved grains of sugar at the bottom of his tea, counting them over and over again, waiting for a reply he isn't sure will come. He and Martin have their habit of bottling most of their feelings up in common. Maybe Martin is searching for the right bottle right now, or maybe he's deciding how to least hurt Jon's feelings. It is still a possibility that Jon's assumptions, his connecting of the dots, is complete bullshit. The dots could still be nonexistent. The uncertainty ticks up with every second that passes.  
  
Martin's face is still angled away to hide his reddening face. He didn't quite imagine this was how he would tell Jon how he felt. He had imagined it often, enough scenarios to fill a novel. Gift him a card on Valentine's day, leave a handwritten note on his desk, ask him out for dinner and recite his favorite poems while searching for constellations in the night sky. Of course none of them would ever happen.  
Gosh, that's quite weird, isn't it? What kind of person would think of their _boss_ this way? The thought of _actually_ confessing his crush was only a faraway daydream for a long time. Of course, that was before Jon had fallen into his coma. It was a rough time after that, a period Martin doesn't like to think about, no matter how recent it had been. But throughout it all, he still cared. He still loved him even now.  
  
"I did mean it." The words fall out of his mouth before he can swallow them to pick better ones. He bites his inner cheek and keeps his gaze on a certain crack in one of the floorboards just to have something to focus on.  
  
"You don't anymore?" Is that disappointment in Jon's voice? Martin doesn't look up but feels Jon's eyes on him.  
  
"Of course I still love you. I haven't stopped thinking about you since I met you. I've spent so long trying to find a way to tell you. I've bought chocolates - eaten alone in my flat - written poems - ripped from my notebooks straight into the wastebin - recorded myself - torn magnetic tape strewn across the floor - I never had the courage, and I just did my job as well as I could. Always hoping you would look at me for only a moment longer than usual. Hoping you would notice that I didn't have to ask how you drink your tea anymore. Wishing I would do enough work for you to do right by you.  
I sat by your hospital bed for months. The only time I could even _think_ about holding your hand. Everything I've done has been because I thought it would help you. I only ever wanted to keep you from getting hurt again. All I've ever wanted is to hold you in my arms and feel the comfort of another person - of you. From the very moment I met you I fell quickly, and deeply in love."  
  
Martin's eyes widen in realization tinged with horror and shoot towards Jon, whose eyes are just as wide, his hand clamped over his own mouth. He tries hard to avoid compelling anything, but the occasional question slips past.  
  
"I'm so sorry," his muffled, horrified voice sounds from behind his scarred hand.  
  
"I guess it had to come out one way or another," Martin mumbles, sets his teacup on the table in order to bury his face in his palms and folds in on himself, wishing just a little bit to not be in this room right now.  
  
"I didn't mean to-"  
  
"Jon, it's fine." Martin supposes he might as well replace the fireplace with how much heat his blushing face is radiating. The wish he might just sink through the floorboard grow with every moment Jon takes to think about his next sentence. And he takes his sweet time, it feels like.  
  
"I," Jon starts, bashfully, "I think that I... feel the same way."  
  
The words don't come easily, but it's extremely relieving to have them out there. What's he still afraid of? Rejection? After Martin said all _that?_ Maybe it's just the tension. Maybe it's the overwhelming urge to touch Martin's hands, the thought of his affection that's making own his hands shake, rippling his tea, making him decide it's best to put his cup down on the coffee table as well.  
  
Martin feels as though he might explode with the pace his heartbeat just picked up, air escaping his lungs entirely. A dizzying swirl of emotions, joy, fear, and confusion hit him all at once before he tilts his head just enough to see Jon staring at his own tightly folded hands. Through everything, Martin finds just enough air to breathlessly mutter "Really?"  
Jon squeezes his own hands together even harder in an effort to find some stability.  
  
"Yes, I - I quite fancy you. You're very lovely, and kind and... and handsome and I wouldn't know where I'd be without you - I'd probably be dead, again, or something, and that wouldn't be good, um. Sorry," he realizes he's rambling on, but isn't sure what else to say. He glances at Martin, who is now staring up at him, big blue eyes wide, again, his mouth slighly ajar, and his hands lying uneasily in his lap. Jon doesn't blush easily, but he's fairly certain his face must be tinged by this point. He resumes staring at his own hands, trying to shake off the thoughts of how soft Martin's must be.   
He finally decides to add "So that's why I asked."  
  
Martin's nerves are through the roof as he repeats Jon's words over and over in his mind. He finally straightens his back and pushes himself out of his awkward sitting position and looks at Jon as he starts.  
  
"I didn't know that." His voice is soft, careful, still in disbelief.  
  
"I thought it was quite obvious," Jon laughs quietly, "especially after I pulled you from the hands of The Lonely and ran away with you to Scotland."  
  
"Well, alright, if you put it like that." Martin grins. "But in my defense, you also pulled Daisy out of that coffin, so what does _that_ mean?"  
  
"That's true," Jon nods, "I suppose it simply means I care about you." He pauses, hesitantly touches Martin's hand, then adds "thank you, by the way. For those tapes you put out back then. They helped."  
  
"Oh," Martin contains a shiver upon Jon's touch and returns the gesture by turning his palm up and taking Jon's hand in his. "You're welcome."   
  
A warm smile radiates off his face. His heart pounds almost out of his chest. He looks at Jon, who is looking back at him, his dark eyes lit up in a way Martin has never seen them before. He isn't watching. Just looking, carefully, safely. They are kind eyes. Tired eyes. The circles under them darker than they should be, in stark contrast with the white dots littering his cheeks and chin, small scars among the scruff of his stubble setting in. Lines on his forehead etched in deep for his age by worry and fear, different kind of lines than the thin scar on his neck. Long, already greying waves frame his beautiful face as he still looks at the man next to him.   
Martin, with his millions of freckles, a multitude of constellations waiting to be traced. Martin, with his gentle pale blue eyes, paler than they used to be, pale like the Lonely-touched tips of his once solid auburn hair, hair that bounces and dances around his head, a lovely crown that suits him so well. Martin, with his smile so pleasant, sweet like sugar syrup, warmer as all the sunshine in the world, it makes Jon melt. Martin, who cannot stop thinking about one certain thing plaguing his mind all the while he studies Jon's face. His gaze lingers on Jon's lips. He doesn't know whether it's okay to think about, if he's honest. Sure, he's thought about it before, but now it feels different.  
  
"Can..." Martin hesitates, but pushes through despite his nerves, "can I kiss you?"  
  
It takes Jon a mere second to answer with a quick nodding of his head.  
  
"Yes," he breathes, returning the desire as his chest fills with butterflies and he starts inching closer to Martin, gingerly placing his free hand on his waist. Martin, too, reaches out, to touch the crook of Jon's neck, nervously pulling himself closer until their lips press together in an expression of pure love. Everything they have gone through culminating into this one moment, a moment so important to both of them that time may as well have stopped, making the moment last forever.  
When they finally pull away, Jon keeps his eyes closed for another few seconds in reminiscence before casting his gaze back onto his partner. He is startled by the state of Martin's face.  
  
"Martin, you're crying," he acknowledges, worry settles on him for a moment before being dispelled again by seeing Martin smile and running the sleeve of his sweater over his wet, blushing cheeks.  
  
"I'm not," he laughs and looks away, embarrassed, but so, so happy. The emotion washing over him from this dream come true is too much to contain. Another pair of happy tears run down his face. Jon takes the opportunity, reaches out and gently wipes the tears away with his thumbs as he cups Martin's face in his hands. Martin responds by placing his own hands on Jon's in approval, and looks at him with big wet eyes, expectantly. Jon's bright smile radiates warmth that reflects on Martin's face like sunshine bouncing off the surface of the moon.  
  
"I love you." The sincerity in Jon's voice is enough to make Martin shake, more teardrops escaping his blinking eyes.  
  
"I love you!" He beams in reply, giggling in delight.  
  
"I love you!!" Jon exclaims and gently pulls Martin in for another kiss, which he eagerly accepts, and after which he smiles like an idiot, wrapping his arms around Jon and burying his face in his cardigan. From his smothered voice, the words "I love you" can barely be made out. Jon chuckles and lovingly strokes Martin's back as he rests his head on his shoulder.   
  
Aside from fabric rustles and conversation inbetween quiet laughter, the world is calm, and remains that way for a little while. It's almost peaceful. They know it their journey isn't over yet, but they think it might be, very soon. Things are looking bright, and even when the sun has long tucked itself under the blanket of horizon, the lights in that little cabin in the middle of Scotland stay on until finally, in the small hours of morning, its temporary inhabitants finally seek rest under their covers as well, wrapped in the comfort of each other's arms.  
  
All in all, it's nice here. It's really nice.


End file.
